


Takes a Mess to Make a Mess

by Madi, StarNightingle



Series: Role-Play write ups [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, For Science John, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, John Makes Sherlock clean, M/M, Play Fighting, Sherlock makes a mess, childish bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madi/pseuds/Madi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarNightingle/pseuds/StarNightingle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is used to Sherlock's experiments and the human remains in the fridge. He's not used to it in the bath in the morning. Sherlock will clean this mess, so help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Takes a Mess to Make a Mess

**Author's Note:**

> "Hi were Tia and Madi, we are the QPTP female versions of John and Sherlock, She writes the smut and I fic about it"
> 
> My friend Madi and I were role-playing and decided to turn it into a fic. Hope you like :)

John was all too used to experiments in the kitchen. John was used to eyeballs in the microwave and fingers in the fridge. John was okay with that. Well maybe not ‘okay’ as such but he knew nothing he said or did would change Sherlock’s habits and he didn’t strictly want Sherlock to change either. This though. This, first thing in the morning. This was not alright.

‘Do I want to know what's in the bath?’ John called into the lounge.

‘It’s an experiment.’ came Sherlock’s expected and vague reply.

‘It looks like pureed toes.’

It really did. A mush of red with the odd nail or bone fragment. Enough to make John’s skin crawl and filling the bath up to half-way.

‘And fingers, obviously’

Well that explained why some of them were more slender and elongated fragments. John scrubbed his face in his hands and walked into the lounge area.

‘Right. Obviously. Why didn’t I notice that?’ He muttered, mostly to himself.

‘I know you’re a doctor you should have noticed’ Sherlock quipped.

‘Generally when I see toes and fingers they are whole and attached to the body.’ Not completely incorrect. This called for a strong cuppa. John moved to the kitchen and pulled two cups from the cupboard while the kettle boiled.

‘Tea?’

‘Need you ask?’

 _No you toss, but it would be nice of you to say please_  John thought. He put two sugars in Sherlock’s cup and chucked a tea bag in both. When he was done he moved into the living room again and watched Sherlock lay on the couch for a second. He’d been there for hours, in his nice posh suit, since before John went to bed the night before. When did he have time to destroy the bathroom?

‘Nope’ John answered placing the tea on the coffee table near Sherlock and backing up to sit in his own chair. ‘So when is the gruesome massacre of fingers and toes being cleaned? I would like to bathe today.’

Sherlock rolled over and sat up. Grabbing the mug of tea and using it to warm his fingers. His fingers were so long and elegant, John loved seeing them wrapped around a mug. And that was unsafe thinking ground. He forced himself to focus on the fact that Sherlock didn’t say thank you for the tea either.

‘You can dispose of them I no longer need them’

‘Thank you for the tea, John, it’s wonderful.’ John muttered to himself before raising his voice for Sherlock to hear clearly, ’I? I can dispose of them? Not bloody likely. You can do it, and if you’re done you can do it now.’

Sherlock scoffed loudly, mostly for effect John guessed.

‘Have Mycroft send someone then.’

‘Ha ha ha. No. I am not going to be the one to call in that favour. You have your brother send someone’

Another huff, ‘Me? Speak to that ginger hippopotamus? Well then it sounds like it’s not going to be cleaned; if you’re not going to do it’

John berated himself for smiling at the ‘ginger hippo’ comment. He got up and grabbed some cleaning supplies quickly from a cabinet in the kitchen.

‘Up! Now! Clean!’ he yelled, throwing each item in turn towards the lazy sodding detective.

‘What?’ Said Sherlock, staring at the bleach like it might hurt him, ‘No’

He threw the sponge back at John and it hit him squarely in the chest. Fine. If they were going to act like children John might as well use childish retaliations.

‘I’ll hide your scarf’ He threatened

‘I’ll hide your gun’ was his answer.

‘I'll hide your skull’

‘I’ll hide your teabags’

‘I won’t make you tea’

John could have cheered at the way Sherlock faltered for a second. Ha! That backfired didn’t it? He quickly regained his composure though. And attempted for a comeback.

‘I will...’

‘Nope,’ John cut in, ‘no. I got you. Admit it and clean the bath.’

Sherlock huffed and rolled back into the couch, curled away from John.

‘I will not.’

‘Admit defeat.’ John repeated.

‘No.’

John would in no way let any indication of how that deep, evil tone Sherlock sometimes used rattled him down to the bone. It was like electricity slamming through him. John put on his best ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ face to hide it.

‘I’m not some junior officer on Lestrade's team. I don’t fall for scary detective sociopath voice.’

‘But Jawwn’ Sherlock rolled back to him and John could see from the look on his face this was going to turn into the tantrum from hell if he didn’t make a move to stop it.

‘Alright,’ he said, holding his hands up in defeat, ‘okay. What do I have to do, to get you to clean the bathroom?’

Bribing could be used effectively against both Holmes brothers, John had learnt.

‘Well you could do it’

Sometimes it worked better than others.

‘Not a chance, choose something’

Sherlock looked at the ground and his hair fell in perfect curls in front of his eyes. Then he muttered, almost too quietly to hear, ‘together’

‘Suppose that’s the best I'll get then.’ John sighed.

Sherlock stood and then moved to the bathroom. He paused at the door and looked expectantly at John where he still sat in his chair. Sherlock was still dressed immaculately in his suit. John sighed again; perhaps it was a symptom of a respiratory problem.

‘Are you going to change into something more “clean the gory puree down the bath” sensible?’

Sherlock looked at himself and then rolled his eyes. ‘Fine I'll change. But leave that jumper on, it’s hideous and if it gets ruined: Good.’

‘Hey I like this one. Harry got it for my birthday last year. What’s wrong with this?’ He eyed his deep maroon jumper and pulled at the hem with his fingers slightly. He did like this one.

‘It dulls your eyes, you should wear blue’ Sherlock threw over his shoulder as he stalked into his room and half shut the door behind him.

‘I sho-‘ John stopped himself. Backhanded compliments were run of the mill with Sherlock and this one was nicer than most. He did mutter under his breath to himself though.

‘Just cause I don’t have stupid perfect eyes, not that their perfect, they’re annoying, that go with every shade under the sun’

‘What was that?’ Sherlock called coming back out of his room.

‘Nothing,’ John muttered to himself. ‘Absolutely not-‘

He stopped dead in his tracks. What the bloody hell was Sherlock wearing? ‘What the bloody hell are you wearing?’

‘What? What’s wrong with this?’ Sherlock glanced down at himself, almost self-conscious.

John refused to tell him that what was wrong with the outfit was what it was doing to his physical need to run and rip it off of Sherlock, and not in an innocent, flat-mate, best friend way.

He was wearing a pair of snug fit, straight legged black jeans and a casual, v-necked tee. The pants were not so strange. They were like his suit pants but jeans, why were they messing with John's head; maybe it was the way they hung from him, ever so slightly different, snug in just the right places. And the tee. God, the tee. It showed more of Sherlock’s pale chest than normal and put his leanly muscled arms on display.

‘It's just- so...? Normal. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything so... normal.’ He hoped like hell that came out even.

‘Normal?’ Sherlock quired, spinning slowly to display it more openly, ‘huh.’

John made a quick retreat into the bathroom to hide any signs of arousal. Though, damn it all, when Sherlock followed he had a smirk on his face.

‘Alright, it’s not a bloody fashion parade. Are we gonna clean or not?’

‘Fine,’ Sherlock’s smirk slipped, ‘why don’t you get started’

John hoped his ears weren’t going as red as they felt. He scowled at Sherlock and shoved gloves and a bucket at him. ‘Gloves. Buckets.’

He pulled on his own gloves and looked again at the horrible sludgy, goopy, mess in the bath. He had to swallow heavily to keep the bile down his throat. This was going to be hard if he didn’t make Sherlock do most of the work.

‘Really Sherlock, what the hell were you testing?’

‘It doesn’t matter what I was testing.’ Was the reply. Sherlock made no move to put his gloves on and stared at the mess in annoyance.

‘Put the gloves on.’ John sighed 'and yes it does matter if I have to help you clean the mess... was this for a case, for fun, or just to annoy me?’

The way Sherlock cheeks turned pink was a distressing tell.

‘Come on let’s get started, this is going to take all day.’ Sherlock said, side-stepping the question.

‘Oh god, it’s to annoy me, isn’t it?’ and why couldn’t he muster more anger at that? ‘Suppose I should feel special.’

‘It's not... to annoy... you’ Sherlock replied, trying to find the right words.

‘Oh. What’s it meant to do then? Make me happy?’ John chuckled at the look that received. ‘Ahh Sherlock I think you need a lesson in interaction’

Sherlock huffed and began to pull his gloves on. After a short battle they were firmly covering his fingers and he rested his hands on his slender hips. The way they framed his waist just- _Watson get your mind away from there!_

‘Yes well how do you propose we clean this’

Yes, cleaning, focus on that. John shook his head.

‘Right. You’ he said firmly with a point in his direction, ‘will start by using your bucket to scoop it. I’ll take the buckets to the hazard disposal round the side. That’ll be a good start’

‘But..’ Sherlock started.

‘You did this.’ John said quickly. Time for a strategy change. ‘Not about to get squeamish are we? Not too frightened by your mess?'

‘Of course not’ Sherlock snapped. His back straightened and his chin tilted up in pride.

Perfect. Sherlock was feeling challenged and John would not need to touch the vomit-inducing stuff personally. John chuckled and leant lightly against the counter as Sherlock bent to his task at the bath. The way he lent over it in those jeans. It was just-

Nothing. It was just nothing.

John quickly turned to the vanity and picked up a bottle at random, twirling it in his hands.

‘Oh do shut up, what are you doing to help?’

‘Supervising.’ John quipped, putting down one bottle to pick up another. ‘What do you use all this for anyway’

Sherlock seemed to have some dark thoughts about John’s help being limited to ‘supervising’. John could swear he heard something along the lines of ‘someone’s going to get a face full of finger juice’ before Sherlock looked around to see what John was talking about. ‘What is it?’

‘I dunno, "styling mousse"’ John said, reading the bottle. ‘And don’t you dare throw that at me. I see the look in your eye. Give me the bucket, I’ll go chuck it out and you can start on the next one’

One bucket of toe-finger sludge down. And one slightly blushing detective. Things were getting fun.

‘It's for styling, you know hair. I’m sure you can read the bottle.’ He grumbled, ‘Fine here’s this bucket’ He passed the bucket towards John and John had to jump back as it almost sloshed all over the floor and his jumper, which despite the warning he hadn’t taken off.

‘Christ, be careful. Despite your thoughts I actually don’t want this jumper ruined.’

He grabbed the bucket and quickly ran it round to the biohazard disposal unit they had in the kitchen. So Sherlock used product to style his perfect hair, it wasn’t as brilliant as he made it out to be all the time.

‘So, your hair isn’t naturally that perfect then.’ John smiled, re-entering the bathroom. Then he realised what he’d said and attempted to backtrack, ‘I mean- not perfect but-' oh god he was stuttering ‘- well you know what I mean’

‘I'll just have to try harder next time.’ Sherlock said eyeing the jumper with obvious evil intent. ‘Of course it does... sometimes it just needs help... I’ve been trying it out’

John laughed at that. He quickly removed his jumper and chucked it through the door to the hall, where it landed with a soft thud.

‘Look, can’t get it now. And this wouldn’t happen to be since that experiment that blew up in your face... where the powder got all in your hair would it?’

‘I’m sure I could’ said Sherlock grinning at the jumper. Then he turned a touch more pink and his tone got defensive. ‘No... Maybe... sometimes hair just needs... shut up. Here’s another bucket’

John scowled hard at Sherlock, taking the bucket in hand and said, in his most “Captain John Watson” voice ‘leave it.’

He and Sherlock shared an intense eye battle for all of half a second before Sherlock broke contact and looked down at the bath again. The back of his neck was following his ears in their speedy colour change to a light pink. And the curls on his nape looked the same as ever. If he was using product and it wasn’t doing anything either he was lying about how long he’d been using it or it was fixing something that hadn’t been wrong before.

‘And yes, it is, you’re experiment blew up, and now it’s affecting your per- your hair.’ John felt triumphant as Sherlock rolled his eyes. He took the bucket out again and came back.

‘Its fine, it just holds better now.’

‘Looks like you just need one more bucket then we’ll start scrubbing.' John said. Better to drop the subject, now he knew he had won, before Sherlock started attacking him for something in annoyance at losing.

‘Here the last bucket’ Sherlock said after hastily finishing the job. Probably could have done better, but it was good enough. The chunks were gone.

‘Right.’ John moved the bucket aside instead of putting it out. ‘Now for some bleach. We should probably coat it and let it soak for a minute’

It was his turn to lean over the bath and get close to the muck.  He used the shower head attachment to wash away the last bits of residual sludge, leaving only the stains. Then he made sure he covered every single bit of blood in bleach. Wouldn’t do to have Mrs. Hudson complaining, she had a hip.

‘Yes uhm' Sherlock coughed. ‘Well tea?’

John stopped a smirk from building on his lips as he saw Sherlock swivel his head away quickly from where he was displayed near the floor.  Maybe he wasn’t the only one looking at what was available. Wouldn’t that be something, if Sherlock Holmes was attracted to him? Wouldn’t do to speculate though.

‘Are you offering or asking?’

Sherlock paused a moment ‘...offering.’

‘I’m not sure I feel any better about that after Baskerville.’ John teased lightly ‘but yes, if you're making. White, no sugar.’

John sat in his chair and busied himself with the loose threads in the Union Jack pillow he loved, rather than stare at Sherlock. The kettle clicked off and John heard Sherlock move about the kitchen, filling mugs, grabbing milk, swirling sugar into his own cup. Shortly he was in the lounge handing John his mug.

‘Here’

There was an odd sort of vulnerable look to Sherlock’s eyes. He didn’t make the pair drinks often. Well, John had better make sure he knew it was appreciated if he wanted a repeat. He took a long sip whilst looking directly at Sherlock, making sure ever slight facial expression was on display.

‘Mm nice, good. Tastes... not-drugged.’

Sherlock grinned and started to drink from his own mug while sitting across from John.

‘Of course it’s not drugged; I don’t want to clean the bath alone, though if you were to be poisoned I wouldn’t have to clean it at all’

‘Yea? You’d have to clean my body away before Mrs. Hudson climbed the stairs and found me here.’ John joked. Surely Sherlock would prefer cleaning a body than a bath. Though likely he’d give himself away when no one complemented him on his excellent murder scene cleaning skills.

‘I'd never hear the end of it "oh Sherlock" Far too much hassle.’ Sherlock teased back.

‘Oh and Mrs. Hudson would be the worst of it of course, you definitely wouldn’t miss me.’ John started to laugh a little.

‘Ugh, the horror. I'd have to make all my own tea! Who would make me eat and tell me I’m amazing?’ They were both laughing now.

‘Maybe I’m bad for you. You’re starting to rely on my reminding you to eat.’ John tried to sham a serious tone, ‘and please, you are brilliant, I’m sure it wouldn’t take too much to con some unlucky sod into doing my job. That or you could pay someone; Mycroft might do it for you.’

‘Yes, you’ve made me absolutely reliant.’ Sherlock said, a little quietly before starting to laugh again. ‘Ha! I’d rather be bored to death than have Mycroft here. I don’t think I’d ever find anyone like you. Because you know,’ he coughed self consciously and looked down waving his hand vaguely, ‘Uhm lack of irritation and such’

‘Ahh Sherlock.’ John stopped laughing and opted at a fond smile directed towards his friend. ‘You’re brilliant, despite the toes in the bath and eyes in the microwave. I can hardly be the only person who ever noticed that.’

‘And fingers ... there were toes and fingers’ Sherlock was silent for a moment, it almost seemed as if he’d leave the conversation there but he continued on. ‘You’re the only person who hasn’t noticed I’m a freak.’

‘Yup. Fingers.’ John looked hard at his friend. How many people had been in his life, telling him he was no good, before he began to consider himself a freak? Surely in that deluge of berks there was one sane person who thought to look past the barriers Sherlock put up.

‘No one? Sherlock? That can’t be right. Everyone has someone...’ John stopped speaking as he realised Sherlock didn’t have any names to mention. Crap.

They were silent for a good five minutes. Sipping tea, staring at anywhere they wasn't each other.

‘We should probably...’ Sherlock started snapping his head up, ‘Finish.’

‘Yea...’ said John, glad the silence was broken and standing abruptly, ‘Yea let's... finish.’

‘Okay, yes, uhm, bleach?’ Sherlock said uncertainly walking back into the bathroom and rummaging through the cleaning supplies.

‘In the bath..’ John said gesturing to the already soaking spots. ‘We'll wash it away and see the damage. Hopefully that's pretty much done it. Didn’t take as long as you thought.’

‘Yes good’ a grin began on Sherlock’s face again, smaller than before but apparent. ‘Well here’s the scrubber.’

He considered the scrubber in his hand and then aimed right for John’s face as he chucked it. John barely moved fast enough to pluck it from the air but his army reflexes weren’t that far gone just yet. He smirked at Sherlock even as he pretended to glare.

‘No way, uh-uh. There’s two,’ he pulled what looked like one scrubber into its separate parts and threw it back in the detective’s face. ‘You are helping too.’

Sherlock caught it with that annoying grace of his without batting an eyelid and his grin grew.

‘But I did the bucket thing.’

Ok, so apparently they were over their serious conversation and back to teasing. John could play that.

‘You also did the blending of toes and fingers.’ John felt himself pale slightly as something he hadn’t considered before same to mind. ‘Oh god, do I want to know how you blended these.’

‘... On an unrelated note don’t use the coffee grinder. Or the new blender I said was a gift from Mycroft.’

John lived with a child. An actual 6 foot child. ‘Sherlock.’ He said lowly, putting on his best “that was a bit not good” voice.

He bent to start washing away the bleach so he could see what else needed to be done. Well, that was better than he expected. One or two splotches had been persistent but on a whole the bath was clean.

‘Look at that, practically perfect, only a few spots.’ Sherlock said attempting to make a hasty retreat from the room.

John caught him by the hem of his jeans. He pulled on them sharply at an angle that forced Sherlock to the floor beside the bath. ‘Scrub’ he ordered.

‘Damn’ Sherlock muttered. He half-heartedly started to scrub at the spot near him whilst John put some real elbow grease into the spot he’d decided to tackle. See this wouldn’t be hard, it was coming up already.

Sherlock stopped abruptly. ‘Is that the doorbell?’

John stilled and listened, but suspected this was a ploy. ‘I didn’t hear it.’

‘Yes,’ said Sherlock, making to get up, ‘must of been. I’ll go check it shall I?’

John grabbed his elbow. ‘You can go. But I want you to know if there’s no one at the door you have to finish this alone.’

Sherlock sat back down and pouted.

‘That’s what I thought.’ John muttered. ‘Now I want you to finish two spots by the time I’ve done five, ok?’

Sherlock smiled to himself as he started scrubbing properly. Damn, John had walked right into that one. John began scrubbing too. Every few swipes, though, Sherlock’s elbow would knock against his.  It could be written off as accidental. If it wasn’t Sherlock.

‘Sherlock I know you’re doing that on purpose. Do your spots.’

A few more swipes and he bumped him again. This time there was no pretence.

‘It’s an accident.’ Sherlock said smiling.

John shoved at Sherlock with a shoulder. ‘Oops, how clumsy of me.’

Sherlock, with all his grace and reflexes, reached behind them and pulled a bottle of shaving cream off the counter. Spraying it at John and getting foam everywhere.

‘Oh, crumpets, what a mess.’ Sherlock said, laughing in earnest.

John glared for a second. ‘I’ll show you crumpets.’ He grabbed the shower head extension of the bath and turning the water on, aimed at Sherlock. Then he let out a torrent of what he would assure anyone who heard were very manly giggles.

Sherlock sputtered water and wiped it off his face. He slicked his soaked hair back and his shirt clung to his torso. Oh that left nothing to the imagination. Sherlock smiled his biggest most evil grin.

‘Oh... you’re going to regret that.’

‘Am I?’ John asked. He laughed again and squirted yet more water over Sherlock, aiming for his jeans. ‘Whatcha gonna do? You’re all wet.’

‘Oh John, John.’ Sherlock said in a low voice.

Next second he pounced at John. He quickly got the upper hand, using the element of surprise. He pinned John and scrambled at his hands in an attempt to get the shower head for himself. John wrestled hard to keep it.

‘Ah. No!’ he spluttered as the water, which he hadn’t turned off started going everywhere, including in his face.

Sherlock continued to laugh at him as John angled the spray up into his face. He spluttered again and aimed the shaving cream can, momentarily forgotten in his hand, at John also.

‘No. Sherlock!’ John dropped his hold on the water immediately in an attempt to shield himself from the worst of the spray.

‘Victory is mine’ Sherlock crowed, grabbing the shower head.

‘Not yet, bastard.’ John retorted. Then he reached up, his hands now covered in shaving foam, and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s luxurious and perfectly styled curls.

Sherlock immediately dropped everything. ‘No, my hair!’ he laughed and began to fall backwards, but John caught him by the front of his shirt.

‘Mind ya head, berk.’

John looked around at the new mess. Oh they had been so nearly done cleaning. There was water and foam everywhere, though admittedly mostly on himself and Sherlock.

‘Oh, you are so mopping.’ John said quickly, ‘And I get first shower.’

Sherlock reached out to stable himself and ended up holding onto John’s hands, ‘Ha, you started it, you’re mopping.’

‘You grabbed the foam,’ John said, starting to rub circles on the back of Sherlock’s hand ‘In fact you elbowed me first.’

‘You started it with the water; you mop. And the first one was an accident, you deserved it.’ Sherlock smiled cheekily.

‘I?’ John scoffed, ‘I deserved it? For making you work? Yeah, right. Mop’s in the cupboard downstairs.’

John was surprisingly reluctant to stand. Sherlock was so close and all disheveled and close and wet and close.

‘You’ve got some, uhm.’ Sherlock let go of John’s hand and reached forwards to wipe cream off John’s cheek.

‘Uhh thanks, for that.’ John looked at his empty hands for a second before pushing himself up off the floor. He was dripping wet, though not nearly as much as Sherlock. They both needed cleaning. He looked in the bath quickly, ‘Looks clean.’

‘Yes, that’s good’ Sherlock slowly pulled the shirt from his frame. It clung as he pulled it, soaked. When he finally got it over his head, John swore it took just a tad longer than necessary, and let it fall carelessly to the floor where it plopped wetly.

Oh god that body, ‘Yea, good.’

John shook his head sharply. Sherlock was standing right there, half naked, now was not the time to stare. Though he was almost being encouraged to stare, Sherlock was certainly standing at the best angle. Maybe it was time to do a little experiment of his own.

John took his luxurious time stripping his own shirt off. He made sure to hold his stomach in the way he knew made it look best, flex his arms just right. He wasn’t called three-continents-Watson for nothing.

‘Think I need more than a towel.’ John said simply, gesturing at the foam, once he had finished removing his top and dropped his wetly on top of where Sherlock had put his.

‘Yes, I do believe you do’ There was no mistaking the way Sherlock followed the path of a clump of foam John could feel down his neck and onto his chest. ‘Yes.. Well.. I-‘

‘Yea.’ Said John, smirking to himself. He waited a moment so that the foam could finish working its way down to his hip before continuing. ‘You’re in the bathroom.’

Sherlock jumped and his senses seemed to snap back to him.

‘Oh right.’ John loved the way Sherlock sounded slightly breathless. And the way Sherlock hesitated. John hated the way Sherlock then muttered ‘Yes, uhm,’ before sighing and leaving the room.

‘Damnit.’ John cursed to himself. He was so close. And so sure Sherlock had been thinking the exact same as him. John considered running out and grabbing him back in for a second before deciding against it.

John showered as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the fact that he was admittedly aroused by his mad flat-mate. As he turned off the taps and stepped onto the floor mat he realised something was missing that hadn’t been just before. He walked into the lounge wrapped in his towel.

‘Sherlock what’ve you done with my bathrobe?’

‘What nothing’ Sherlock replied quietly. He didn’t even raise his eyes, lying on the couch, fingers stippled under his chin.

‘It’s not on the hook.’ John said, pointing towards the bathroom where it belonged. ‘Either you moved it or Mrs. Hudson did and I trust her more.’ He winced slightly at that sentence, that wasn’t true, ‘to not touch my things, that is.’

‘Did you check your room? Maybe you misplaced it. Is that what it’s like in your little brain’

‘You remember I’m a doctor yes? I’m not stupid.’ John replied glaring at Sherlock’s still unmoving form. ‘I’m going to get dressed. I expect my robe back on the hook by time I get back.’

Sherlock snorted, ‘Well unless you put it there I don’t see that happening.’

‘I want it back there!’ John called back over his shoulder from the foot of the stairs up to his room.

‘Make me.’ was the reply yelled up to him. So he had taken it.

‘I was a solider Sherlock!’ John shouted. It was a bit childish, having a conversation between two stories, but he was not letting Sherlock get the last word.

‘You were a doctor.’ Sherlock had apparently also seen how childish it was and John heard him move around til he was at the foot of the stairs.

‘In the bleeding army. Don’t forget that cabbie either.’

John realised his door was still open, out of necessity to be heard down stairs. At the foot of the stairs Sherlock could see all the way up into his room. John was stood in his trousers, draw open searching for a shirt to pull on. He turned and glanced at Sherlock as he decided on one and pulled it out.

Sherlock froze, one foot on the bottom stair and one still on the landing.

‘I would never forget that.’ He sounded so solemn and grateful that John couldn’t help but smile.

‘Saved your life. Idiot.’ He muttered to break the tension. But he smiled so that Sherlock would know he was joking.

Sherlock smiled back and continued up the stairs until he was leaning in John’s doorway. John quickly threw his shirt on, pulling at the hem to straighten it out.

 _Say something._ His mind screamed at him. _Call him beautiful, or tell him you care, say you lov-_

‘Got my robe?’ John said.

Well that went great.

‘It... its. Ill get it.’ And Sherlock bolted from his room and down stairs.

‘Damnit!’ John cursed, for the second time in the last half hour.

John waited patiently for a minute. He couldn’t hear the tell tale signs that Sherlock was scuttling round looking for something. What was taking so long? He waited one more minute before he had to know where Sherlock had gone to.

‘Sherlock?’ he called down the stairs. No reply. ‘Sherlock?’

John walked all the way down stairs and through into the living room. No sign of Sherlock in there either. Bloody hell. John spun on the spot and caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s feet through his bedroom door.

‘Sherlock.’ He said again, and he walked up to stand in his door way.

Sherlock was sat on his bed. Looking stuck, his head twitching slightly every few seconds as if in internal debate.

‘What are we doing, Sherlock?’  John said.

It sounded innocent but he knew Sherlock would feel the weight behind the question. What were they doing? Dancing around each other. Again. They’d been dancing for far too long, years. Ever since that first _married to my work-no I’m not asking, no_.

Sherlock pointed silently to his door. There on the back hooks sat Sherlock’s bathrobe, and right next to it, on its own hook, was John’s. John reached to grab his robe, put it back in its spot, but his hand didn’t quite make it before his mind caught up. John looked back over at Sherlock, sat on his bed. Damn, he was beautiful. If he couldn’t muster up the guts to make a move then at least his robe would hang next to Sherlock’s.

‘Keep it.’

‘Keep it?’ Was that hope in Sherlock’s voice?

‘Yes.’ Do it. ‘Bloody.’ Do it! ‘Ahh, damnit.’ Nope, John didn’t have the guts. What if he was wrong about it all, Sherlock hadn’t shown interest in anyone before. Why John? ‘Just keep it.’

John turned to leave and hesitated, hand on the doorway.

‘John, just.’ John wasn’t facing Sherlock anymore but he could hear him stand. His body tensed. It was just Sherlock, calm down. Sherlock moved towards him. And John was drenched, once again in water.

John whipped around to see Sherlock holding a bottle of water, or what was a bottle of water, but now is empty because the whole thing has been thrown on his head.

‘Sherlock! What the he-‘ John pulled short as he noticed Sherlock’s grin. Why was he grinning? ‘You’re mental. Bloody well insane! You’re doing my dry cleaning.’

Sherlock just laughed, ‘John, don’t-‘

But John was done. He was done with the dance and done with Sherlock being insane. The toes and fingers, the shaving foam, the fact that he made it so damn hard to confess to anything when he admitted John was the only one who hadn’t declared him a freak.

‘No.’ John could feel his voice raising. ‘You are finishing the blood stains, and mopping the floor.’ He was getting louder, ‘And doing my dry cleaning!’

‘John!’ 

John didn’t have time to catch his breath before Sherlock had him shoved against the nearest wall, hand curled around the base of his skull to stop it from slamming into the wall like the rest of him. Sherlock’s other hand gripped John’s shirt, hard.

They were so close John could swear he tasted the sugar from Sherlock’s tea on his breath. Millimetres separated their mouths, eyes locked.

‘John, I-’ Sherlock manages to whisper before his throat closes over.

John knows what’s coming next. His breath catches and he grabs at Sherlock’s forearms. He held them tight, no way Sherlock was running away this time. Not now. Not this close.

‘You what?’ John asked. He tried to let all his feelings, the raw emotion play over his face. Maybe he could say it without saying it. Maybe Sherlock would be brave for them both.

‘I... I-‘ Sherlock pulled away. Or tried to John’s hands held him still, close against him.

Sherlock closed his eyes. Scrunched up his face tight and seemed to come to the split decision of ‘now or never’.

John’s first instinct was the freeze the moment Sherlock kissed him. It took him a second to process the fact that those soft lips, that perfect cupid’s bow, was against his own mouth. When he did realise though he responded enthusiastically. John opened his mouth invitingly.

‘Finally’ John breathed against Sherlock’s lips. He reached up to run his fingers through those perfect curls, still slightly damp.

They were using their lips to express what they had been unable to say for so long. The need and want and passion. Sherlock released his grip on John’s shirt, opting to slide his hand beneath the wet fabric and run it over his skin.

John gasped in a breath when Sherlock’s tongue slid across his lip and Sherlock took the advantage to push in. John’s tongue intertwined with Sherlock’s and the taller man couldn’t help the moan that escaped him.

It was like that moan was pure energy and it sparked through John, reaching his bones and travelling through his core.

‘Christ your voice.’ John muttered. It was all so surreal, ‘Holy shit, I’m kissing Sherlock Holmes.’

John pushed harder against Sherlock, running his hands up and down his sides, trying to put all his strength on display. He wanted Sherlock to feel the power he had, he was in the army.

Sherlock grabbed at John's hands and pulled them away from the wall. John’s wet shirt was removed quickly by Sherlock’s grasping fingers. John pushed at Sherlock’s too and very quickly there were two shirts on the floor.

As soon as the shirts were out of the way the kiss resumed. They crashed back together urgently. John loved the feel of Sherlock’s chest against his own, firm and strong. Sherlock was running his hands over John’s back, slightly slick still from the water.

John’s hips rolled forward to press against Sherlock’s. John could feel the hardness against his and Sherlock pushed back against him to increase the friction. They let out moans simultaneously, lips never leaving one another.

John felt like his legs would buckle soon if he didn’t get something under them. He pushed Sherlock, leading him towards the bed. The backs of his legs hit the bed and Sherlock tumbled backwards. John, unwilling to let those lips get out of his reach followed him down, straddling his hips.

‘I’m on top of Sherlock Holmes.’ John murmured as he started to kiss the skin around Sherlock’s lips and then slid down to his neck. It was so long and slender, so beautiful. He kissed it all over and pulled the skin into his mouth, biting it. Sherlock growled appreciatively under him and John bit harder, leaving a mark in the skin and licking the mark to ease the pain.

John let his kisses travel downwards. Adams apple, sternocleidomastoid, collar bone, deltoid, pectoralis major. John named each spot his mouth fell upon in his head as he moved down until he reached a nipple. He sucked the hard bud into his mouth and rolled it on his tongue, using a free hand to massage the other delicately with his finger tips.

It pleased John to no end hearing the groan Sherlock let out, mixed with his own name. He began moving down again; serratus anterior, external oblique, rectus adbominis. He moved from his perch on Sherlock’s legs down to the floor between his legs. He kissed to the very edge of Sherlock’s pants before hesitating.

Glancing up John locked eyes with Sherlock and asked a silent permission. He barely registered the slight nod he receives. All John could see was the unabashed want pouring from Sherlock’s eyes. It’s clear how much Sherlock wants this. And, John realises with a gasp, how much he wants John.

John licked his lips eagerly and undid the button on Sherlock’s jeans. They grabbed slightly as he pulled them down, firm fit clinging to skin. John exhaled sharply after they were fully removed. Sherlock’s arousal was showing clearly through his tented pants, the tip peeking out the edge.

 John stared for a moment before Sherlock nudged his with a foot. ‘Impatient bastard’ John growled as he leant forwards and mouthed at Sherlock through the fabric. Sherlock hissed as the fabric dampened and John pressed his tongue flat against him. John held Sherlock’s hips down as he arched up slightly into the contact.

John teased Sherlock for as long as he could bare until Sherlock began digging his heels into John’s back needily.

‘Settle.’ John whispered into his abdomen as he lifted Sherlock’s hips and pulled his pants away.

John grasped Sherlock at the base and moved his lips around the head. John moaned at the taste and moved down taking as much in as he could before letting his lips slide back up the shaft.

John continued to move his mouth up and down as Sherlock fisted at the sheets. With the hand that wasn’t holding Sherlock John began to trace his fingers gently over Sherlock’s balls and hesitantly behind to stroke his perineum.

John had no need to worry about his skill, Sherlock was moaning wantonly in a constant stream. Mostly it’s just a low moan, at the back of his throat, buzzing through John, but occasionally he moaned John’s name and it drove John crazy.

John felt Sherlock getting close. His balls pulled in and he started to moan louder. John sucked him in deep, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing, the back of his throat worked around the very tip of Sherlock’s prick.

‘No.’ Sherlock moaned, and John began to pull back ‘Stop!’

The stop was almost a shout and John panicked. He pulled right off and glanced up at Sherlock sharply. Sherlock was smiling at him with pupils blown wide and hands beckoning John back up to him until they were once again lying together on the bed.

‘Not like that.’ Sherlock murmured near his mouth as he pulled John in for another kiss.

John relaxed again as Sherlock’s hand snaked its way down his chest. Sherlock continued to kiss John, even as he pushed his hand down, into the space between his trousers and his pants, and palmed him through the cotton.

John was pushed back into the mattress and Sherlock began his own way down John’s chest. He was hastier on the way down, skipping straight from John’s neck to his dusty pink nipple. John arched into the touch of his lips there and Sherlock bit down hard enough for it to hurt. He licked it better in apology and then began to trail his tongue down John’s chest. Licks like kisses, pressed against John’s skin, down to his stomach.

Jonh gasped as Sherlock pushed his tongue softly into John’s belly button. He quickly moved on though, down to his real prize.

Sherlock made quick work of John’s trousers and grinned at the bright red pants underneath. Somehow that colour red, seeing it on John, the brightness of it made him harder still. He hurried to impatiently remove the last piece of clothing from between them, though instead of chucking them on the floor the pants are placed neatly at the end of the bed where Sherlock could see them.

‘Like those, huh?’ John chuckled.

He was cut off quickly by the shock of Sherlock’s tongue running up his length. Sherlock had, of course, previously deduced the length and width of his flatmate but seeing it in person had made his mouth water in anticipation.

Sherlock ran his tongue up the length again, but this time once he reached the tip he swirled over the glands.

‘Oh God, oh fuck.’ John muttered breathlessly.

Sherlock smirked. John wasn’t about to stop talking now. He was waiting for the breathy ‘oh God, I’m being sucked off by Sherlock Holmes’. Ahh and there it was.

Sherlock pulled at John’s hands and directed them to his hair where they pulled lightly. Next Sherlock took  John in hand and lowered his mouth over the head, down the shaft and almost to the base. John tasted of salty precome and Sherlock began to bob.

John twisted his hand in Sherlock’s hair, trying not to pull too hard but he was so far gone he couldn’t be sure. His voice became a blur of curses and moans. Sherlock pushed down again, as far as he could go, and when he reached his limit he let out a deep moan.

John thrust up into Sherlock’s mouth involuntarily. Sherlock hummed and moaned again, encouraging the movement. He held his mouth steady as John began to fuck his face. As John began to move faster and desperately Sherlock pushed his hips down into the mattress once more. He pulled off of John with one long suck, running his tongue along the dorsal vein.

Sherlock dragged himself back up John’s body quickly. Ravaging his mouth once more. John returns the kiss whole heartedly and they both stutter as, for the first time, their erections slide together, John’s slick with Sherlock’s mouth. They groaned together and moved again, creating a beautiful friction.

Sherlock moved his lips to John’s ear and nibbled lightly on the lobe before he whispered gently, ‘I want you to fuck me.’

John balked at Sherlock’s words as the taller man nuzzled into his unscarred shoulder. Hearing a curse from Sherlock was a rarity. It made the hardness between his legs throb.

 ‘John quickly, the top drawer’ Sherlock whined.

John rebooted his brain and opened the drawer. He quickly spotted the unopened pack of condoms and still sealed lube. He wondered briefly if they were for an experiment or if Sherlock had been planning this for a while.

John grabbed one of the condoms and the lube and rearranged them both straight down the centre of the bed, Sherlock beneath him. Then he worked his way back down Sherlock’s body, taking his time, drawing out the moment. Sherlock squirmed beneath John’s lips and his tongue as he ran his hands over any part of John he could reach.

John hesitated slightly and looked up at Sherlock. ‘How do you want to-’

‘I want to look at you’ Sherlock answered, interrupting the question.

John smiled as he settled himself between Sherlock’s legs. Even in this Sherlock was bossy and impatient. Figured.

‘Grab a pillow, would ya?’

‘I do know how this works John.’ Sherlock said in a rumble that went straight to John’s groin, he then took a pillow, and slipped it under his hips.

John covered his fingers in lube and pressed one down, passed Sherlock’s perineum, and back to his ass. Sherlock shivered as john rubbed the pad of his finger in a circle over his hole before pushing in gently.

Sherlock let out a sharp hiss and John moaned against him at the feeling of the heat enveloping his finger. John watched in amazement as he pushed his finger in further, though not too far. He retracted his finger to add more lube before going near Sherlock’s prostate, swirling his fingers together to quickly warm the cool liquid.

‘Oh God’ Sherlock cried out as John's finger entered him for the second time.

This time John found Sherlock’s prostate with doctoral precision and slid his finger cautiously over the surface. Sherlock’s reaction was immediate, he arched his hips and his muscles clenched around John’s finger.

‘Another finger,’ Sherlock demanded, ‘I’m ready for it.’

John needed no further encouragement. He withdrew his finger and pressed in with the tip of his middle finger. Sherlock could feel the size difference just between the digits and groaned in anticipation of the stretch two fingers would be able to provide.

John shuddered as he slowly pushed two fingers into his best friend, ‘Fuck, I’m fingering Sherlock Holmes.’

As soon as Sherlock had relaxed around his fingers John drew them out and pushed them back in, slowly creating a firm but soothing rhythm. John used his free hand to grasp Sherlock’s prick and pulled it in time with the thrust his fingers.

A third finger was added when Sherlock began thrusting his hips to meet John’s fingers, causing him to brush his prostate each time his fingers re-entered Sherlock’s body.

‘Oh God, John. I’m ready. Please. Fuck me now.’

John hastily rolled the condom onto his weeping cock and coated it in lube. ‘Ahh, that’s cold.’ He whispered, running his hand over himself once, twice to warm it all up. John lowered himself to brush himself along Sherlock’s crack. He rubbed over his hole.

‘God, now’ Sherlock panted, inviting John to push forward.

The head of John’s cock pushed past Sherlock’s opening causing Sherlock to hiss with a mixture of pain and pleasure. John waited for him to adjust before resuming pushing into his body. Both john and Sherlock let out groans as john bottomed out in Sherlock.

‘Bloody fucking Christ. I’m inside of Sherlock bloody Holmes.’ John thought back to his amazement at just kissing Sherlock earlier that night, and let out a small, manly giggle.

Sherlock cast him a look at the sound. The expression had John bent forwards placing kisses at the bottom of Sherlock’s throat.

‘Damnit.’ He cursed his small stature and his inability to reach Sherlock’s mouth from this position.

His face must have given away his thoughts as Sherlock gave a laugh of his own and pulled up to meet John’s lips in a kiss. The kiss was brief. Sherlock’s movement caused John to move inside of Sherlock which left both men gasping.

‘Are you ready?’ John whispered against Sherlock’s skin.

‘I’ve been ready for so long.’ Sherlock replied, pressing one final kiss to John’s lips before lying back down.

Sherlock raised one leg around John’s hips and John began thrusting into him shallowly. The more Sherlock adjusted to John the longer the thrusts became. He restlessly started moving his hips in time with John’s thrusts and John redoubled his efforts.

As John’s shoulder began to ache he moved his arm, resting instead on his elbow. This new position caused John to hit Sherlock’s prostate suddenly.

Sherlock arched again, his face screwed up in a picture of arousal and need. ‘Oh John.’ He moaned, ‘John, I’m so close. I just need.’

 John grasped Sherlock’s cock, using one hand to support himself. He slowly palmed up and down Sherlock’s shaft, smearing the pre-cum around the head with the pad of his thumb. He could feel his orgasm building in his stomach and groin, warmth pooling at his base.

John thrust into Sherlock making sure to hit prostate with every stroke. With a heady cry of John’s name Sherlock came. His warmth clenched around John’s cock as he rode out his orgasm. The feeling of Sherlock clamping around him, mixed with the sight of Sherlock’s face as he came undone, pushed John over the edge, thrusting only twice more before coming himself.

John cried out Sherlock’s name before collapsing over him, completely torn to pieces in his pleasure.

‘I just had sex with Sherlock Holmes.’ John muttered into Sherlock’s neck, panting and absolutely spent.

‘Mmm.’ Sherlock hummed.

‘Oh God.’

‘Not quite.’ Sherlock panted back with a grin.

Sherlock moaned as he felt John’s softening cock pull out. John divested himself of the condom and threw it in the general direction of the rubbish bin. He then grabbed a shirt off the floor and wiped Sherlock’s cum off his stomach.

‘Come here’ Sherlock sighed, reaching out and pulling him down to lay next to him.

‘I already did’ said john with a smirk.

They laid in comfortable silence for a while. Though it wasn’t long before Sherlock started squirming and John poked him to stop his movements.

‘John, what, uhm, I was saying earlier...’ Sherlock said breathlessly

‘.. Yes?’ John had no idea what they’d said earlier, he wasn’t about to admit that though.

‘Well... The thing is... I really... Don’t want to clean the bathroom’ Sherlock finished quickly.

John groaned, ‘Oh, you’re doing it... naked... while I watch.’

‘But Jawwn.’

‘Nope, that never works...’

Sherlock snuggled back in tight to John’s neck, ‘You’re lucky I love you.’ He whispered.

John’s breath caught in his lungs and his throat ached dully. He looked down at Sherlock and smiled, ‘Yea, I love you too. Idiot.’

‘So you’ll clean the bathroom?’

‘I can love your corpse...’

‘Mrs. Hudson would never let you live it down.’

John laughed, ‘Yea, far too much hassle.’


End file.
